New York, 1946
by kvh502
Summary: A ROMY noir fic, very losely based on X-Men Noir. Remy owns the Creole club and Rogue is a singer. Where will events lead our favorite pair?


**A/N: Ok, so I really liked the idea of the noir universe that Marvel have got going at the moment, and decided that I'd do a noir based Romy fic. **

**This fic has nothing to do with the events of X-Men Noir, I'm just taking the setting. **

**For those who might not know what's going on in X-Men Noir, it's the 1940s and Remy owns a club in New York called the Creole Club. There are no superheroes and no mutants; just the good guys, the criminals and the ones stuck somewhere in between. That's about all you need to know!**

**Disclaimer: All is Marvel's.**

**o-o-o-o-o**

Remy LeBeau held his head in his hands, trying not to cry from desperation, or the damage presently being inflicted on his eardrums.

It had been a week since the Creole Club's resident singer had walked out claiming she'd had enough of the low lives that inhabited this hole. Remy had found that quite insulting. It really wasn't a bad club. Sure it wasn't like performing in Carnegie Hall every night, but what had the dame expected?

He'd been auditioning a seemingly never ending string of particularly talentless aspiring singers. He looked up as the auditory assault came to an end.

"Well…_merci _for dat inspiring performance _chère_, but I don't t'ink you have quite de right style for dis establishment."

The woman looked mildly affronted but Remy was long past caring at that point. There were only so many convincingly nice ways you could reject someone, and it had been a very long week.

The woman bristled past him on her way out, pausing at the door as she passed a newcomer. "I really wouldn't bother if I were you dear," she remarked haughtily, "that man is far too picky." She cast a final glare at Remy before making her way into the cold outdoors.

"Well…? Should ah bother comin' in?"

It was only then that Remy turned to greet the stranger. The image facing him almost took his breath away.

She was stood in the open doorway, framed by the swirling mist that had descended upon the city. Long, lean legs emerged from a stylish black fur coat, which led up to a face concealed under the net of her hat, framed by a mass of dark curls. She had caught Remy's attention, and he couldn't quite muster the energy to turn her away. Her husky southern voice was tantalising to say the least.

"_Mais oui, mademoiselle_." He beckoned her in with a sweeping hand gesture. "De stage is yours."

He thought he caught a glimpse of a smile playing on her lips as she sashayed past him up to the stage, elegantly shedding her coat onto a passing chair. She was wearing a form fitting tailored suit of forest green, showcasing the no doubt sensational figure beneath. The band waiting on the stage looked awestruck as she ascended to meet them. Remy wished he could see her face properly.

The band struck up a slow, sultry, blues melody. She placed herself in front of the microphone, gently clasping it in her gloved hands. The net still covered her face, and Remy was preoccupied with trying to see through the obscuring shadows. Then she began to sing. Remy instantly forgot about anything else, all his attention was fixated on the sound coming out of this extraordinary woman's mouth. Her voice was tender and soulful, full of understated emotion; it was almost torturous in its intoxication.

Her voice was not powerful, but it had a resonance that blew you away with its force. It was as if the world had stopped, just to listen to her sing.

The final chord struck. It took Remy a moment to regain his composure, and ask her to join him at his table.

She sauntered over and sat opposite him, smoothly crossing her legs.

"Dat was some performance _chère_. I…"

He stumbled on his words then, as she chose that moment to raise the net covering her face. He looked back into the clear gaze of the most hauntingly beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her skin was smooth and pale like porcelain. Her eyes were a dark, inky green, framed by thick black lashes. Her full lips were blood red. He could see that a streak of pure white hair had been swept back from her face to nestle among her lush auburn curls.

"Well ah have to admit ah don't usually render people speechless, but ah'll take it as a compliment." She said smirking as him, her eyes sparkling.

"_Mais, bien sur._ _Une belle femme_ such as yourself, I'd have t'ought you be used to making men speechless…in one way or another." He replied suggestively in an attempt to recover from being caught off guard by her beauty.

She tipped back her head and laughed. A wonderful rich and throaty sound that aroused certain things in Remy.

"Well it appears ah just walked into a snake pit." She chuckled good humouredly.

If he hadn't already been sold after listening to her sing, that would have done it. New York jazz singers were all too lacking in a sense of humour for Remy's taste, and he could definitely get used to listening to her intoxicating laugh.

He winked at her. "Snake pit or no, de job's yours _chère_, if you be wantin' it."

She smiled; a true dazzler. Remy tried hard not to fall off his chair.

"Ah do believe we have a deal, Mr….?"

"LeBeau. Remy LeBeau." He supplied, reaching out to take her extended hand. "Miss…?"

"Raven. AnnaMarie Raven."

"Enchanté. Mademoiselle Raven." He changed his grasp on her gloved hand from a handshake to bring her knuckles up to his lips to kiss softly.

She shook her head at him, sighing. But she was still smiling.

o-o-o-o-o-o

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